A Good Morning

I woke up today to raindrops pattering on my window, an experience I hadn’t had since last June. Plastering a smile on my lips, I got up ready to get ready for work. And even as I brushed my teeth, the rain waned into a drizzle, and the drizzle then became an occasional droplet. Then, silence — all in a span of five minutes.

Finishing my daily chores, I peeked through the window again. An early bird chirped from its nestled castle in a tree nearby, the sole creature bold enough to break the silence. Sipping my cup of tea, I stared at my cup of tea: the sky lightened and the dark clouds of last night whitened.

I took a deep breath for it felt like a good day.

I left home and locked the door behind me, hoping for a productive day at work. And as I stepped out of the house, the sun peeked out from the horizon, braving the vagaries of the early morning’s slight storm, and sending a shot of warmth through me.

I flashed a smile at the soldier and headed out the street. A good day to take a walk.

On my way, I saw the age-old banyan tree swaying like a wise old woman nodding her white head at me, while a pale orange leaf disengaged itself from its kin to fall onto my path. And along with it, I got the scent of dug up earth and the sight of earthworms wiggling their way back into the soothing heat of the soil.

To cap my walk, came a gentle breeze blowing my already-messy hair into a disarray, and bringing in its wake, a single drop of rain.

Looking up, I saw the white clouds darkening again and the sun retreating. I could feel the breeze getting colder and damper. As that single droplet expanded into a mild drizzle, I stepped up my pace — I had just a few more feet to go.

The drizzle, however, had coated my glasses while I rushed into the shelter of my office. Walking into the towering glass structure, behind me, I heard the whizzing wind gushing through the gap in the door.

Worrying about the clothes I had put to dry on the terrace, I took the elevator up to the 12th floor, coming to a halt by the window. I looked down at the street. The roads were wet, but the drizzle had moved on. The wind had died down, and the sun seemed ready to show her face again.

Shaking my head, I turned around with my arms outstretched announcing to the floor at large, “Monsoon’s here, people.” Lucky for me, the place was deserted. I am the early bird at work.

The Kindling

kindle-vs-books

“Get real,” she said. “No one’s going to spend time reading bulky books in future. Why would they, when we already have audio books and kindle?”

My friend and I were having coffee at a famous fast food chain. We had left the office for lunch but decided to grab a muffin and an espresso instead.

When someone said such a thing, I’d flare back at them without a second thought. But now I held my tongue. My friend made sense, and I hated myself for admitting it. I said nothing, however. My coffee lingered under my tongue sending shots of bitterness through my system.

I love reading physical books. And I’ve admitted more times than I know, that despite the Kindle app’s animation to turn pages, an ebook just doesn’t feel the same way. But I’m reading four or five books now, and all of them are on my mobile. It’s easy because I never know when I’d get the time to read a page or two, and my phone’s just lying there in my pocket.

But I’m also against the digital revolution that’s almost killed paperbacks. It saddens me that leather bounds are now classed as exclusive collector’s items.

Books are books. They’re made up of words that can twist and tug at the deepest of heartstrings, and not antiques held together with age-old rust and dust.

Books are books. They’re living things filled with opinions and teachings. They can weigh in when you’re down, though sometimes even weigh too much when you’re carrying a burden.

Books are books. They are a mark of history written. They’re proof that people lived through them; they behold fingerprints and memories of thousands of enlightened minds who’ve cherished every page, every word, and every curve of the “g”s in them.

Whereas Kindle is cold. It’s a case that displays what it contains, and it contains a new thing every day.

Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s sleek to the touch, fits into your arms, and easy to carry.

Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s got hundreds of voices screaming for your attention, and if you’re ever appalled by the violence in one page, you can always find some zen in another.

The Kindle is just a Kindle. It’s versatile with multiple stories and multiple stands. It will neither weigh in for you nor weigh you down.

Kindle is kindling in the name only. It kindles not one but many emotions, which is good for some but too many for most. Bulky books rekindle spirits. There’s no escape from the secrets within a bound book. You either take all it in or give it all up. There’s no intervention, and there’s no mid-ground.

But even as all these thoughts rushed through my head, I still kept my mouth shut. As much as I hated it, ebooks and Kindles are the new way of reading.

With the rise of 140 characters, facebook-like attention spans, and books you can listen to while watching silent movies, many people think hot chocolate and the sofa near the foggy window is more suitable for the family kitten. My friend was right. In future, not many people would read heavy books. We’d intake lines and lines of words like we inhale air. And like air, most of it wouldn’t even reach our brains. It’s the age of the Kindle and unkindled souls.

What’s the Point of Fireworks?

For once, I’m glad the weekend’s over. For two whole days, fireworks have been cracking and popping outside my window and all I could think of was what’s the point of it all?

It’s funny that people work hard all year and throw away all their bonus cash on rolled up gunpowder that could blow up a finger. It happens too, at least five times every year. And most of the time, it’s more than a finger. Sometimes even entire houses near a fireworks shop go up in flames just because some random guy lit a cigarette. Fireworks are unstable, risky, and they turn cash into ash right in front of your eyes.

As if wasting money weren’t enough, there’s the nuisance of noise and smoke. I kept jumping every now and again — and not because of the plot twist in the book I was reading. One kid’s thrill for roaring rockets and blasted bombs made the two-month-old next door wail all night which in turn kept me up all night. The noise even drowned out the environmentalists who orated ozone overtures on television. Not even an hour of silence.

But there’s another side to fireworks. A side that’s as pathetic as the aftermath that garbage collectors have to deal with.

About three months before the festival season begins, Sivakasi and the rest of fireworks-producing areas rejoices. Fireworks are their livelihood. They’d lock themselves up in a dingy room, stuffing charcoal into sulfur and sickness into children. And with every pack of fireworks they sold, the lights in their houses would burn brighter and their kids would get a better chance at primary education. The lighter our purses become, the heavier their stomachs become. These people feed on fireworks while people in white coats argue for boycotting the poisonous epidemic.

Nevertheless, fireworks aren’t military. There’s no point in pretending they are a necessary evil. We know the destruction fireworks cause, but we also know the families that hinge on them. And that’s the saddest stature of Indian society. A large portion of our people would die if the larger portion doesn’t kill the environment (in a way).

Unless we take a stand. Unless primary school textbooks refine their definition of Sivakasi being synonymous with fireworks. Unless we do more than boycotting fireworks. Unless we find alternative employment opportunities for those who survive in charcoal, we won’t rid ourselves of pointless fires.

Productive Mondays

Hello there, Kevin! Sorry, my headphones drowned you out. Good morning to you too.

Or, good afternoon more like. It’s almost 11.30. Yeah, I came in at my usual time, 8.30. Nope, it’s no big deal. You just don’t get drunk the previous night and you won’t be hungover in the morning. It’s that simple. I know, I know, you broke up with your girlfriend. Who told us? Well, you, of course. Remember, when you drunk-texted the whole team last night with your “my endless love” lyrics? I have to say, though, the boss called me up later asking me if you’d gone crazy or something.

But that’s ok. You were upset, it’s understandable. No no, you didn’t disturb us. It’s not like I had planned for a quiet dinner with a special friend or anything.

Anyway, I should get back to work, the boss would be furious if I don’t hand over that report today. Yes, catch you later.

Sigh.

Woah, Tracy you scared me! When did you come? I was just talking to Kevin about the mishap yesterday. Ah no, I wasn’t fumbling with my headphones because I saw you coming in through the corner of my eye. No, I was trying to finish a report. Need focus, you see.

Oh, your sister got engaged last night? Wonderful, thanks for the cake. Now if you’ll excuse me —

Hey Kevin. You again. What’s up? Oh, you came over for the cake, right. Er, no. I’m not getting married, Tracy’s sister is. Oh, well, I’m not thinking about marriage now. No, I’m not in a relationship either. I’d rather not talk about it, ok?

Oh, you think a little chit chat would be alright on a Monday morning? Well, if you won’t leave my place there’s not much I can do. Well, I could punch you. But you have a nice face, and I hate to bloody it. Oh, here she is. Hey Trace, Kevin likes your cake. So much so that he doesn’t want to leave.

—

Wow, that’s some deep conversation you’re having fellas. And don’t bother taking it elsewhere. I’m jobless anyway, and Kevin, I’m dying to know what happened between you and your girlfriend. Well, that report can wait, I guess. You know, Tracy’s always told me (she somehow gets through my headphones) you and your girlfriend weren’t at all a match. Notice her eyes pitying you? And then maybe notice mine too, because they’re hurling fireballs at you.

—

Ok guys, sorry to break you up. The boss just walked in gestured to me that and he wants a chat with you, Kevin. Maybe you should go, and see what he wants? Oh, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. And we’ll be right here when you get back, we want to hear more about your breakup.

Trace, I’m off to a meeting. No, not a team meeting, it’s — it’s an impromptu meeting. With a friend — from the 3rd floor — it’s personal, ok? Yeah, I’m taking my laptop too. Anyway, see you.

A Festival of Darkness

I’m home alone, marvelling Pirates of the Caribbean for the uncountable time. My room mates have left for their hometowns and so have my colleagues and friends.

Today is Diwali or Deepawali, a special Indian holiday. People working away from their hometowns throng home to spend the day with family. Most religions celebrate this day as the day good destroyed the evil in the world.

diwali-fiewworks — Not real bombs. Just fireworks.

Yet it’s ironic that we celebrate the end of all evil by spreading more evil.

We all love spending time with our families, sharing a meal, and smiling at the kids who run around the neighbourhood fighting over candy while parents share a drink. That’s how foreigners see Diwali. It’s a day of joy and sweets and all things nice. There’s no evil in that.

So it would seem.

Diwali is the festival of lights. And the reason: We celebrate the day lighting firecrackers and scaring the crap out of our domestic animals. It’s common for people to have cows and buffalos as pets, along with dogs, cats, and fish. And while I enjoy Jack Sparrow’s adventures in my room, I hear these bigger animals wailing in fear as the fireworks go up a little too close to their feet.

As I shake my head disgusted at parents who let their kids torment animals, my phone lights up with flash news: “Fire in Gujarat’s fireworks shop, over 10 people dead.” Every year, Diwali brings a handful of fire accidents in fireworks shops. And every year people debate whether we should continue selling and manufacturing fireworks because of all the death and destruction. And yet, year after year, people light up their stash of smoky hell, laughing at lights and lolling like maniacs.

There’s more to Diwali than killing lives and scaring animals, though. Fireworks are expensive. And every household with children or light-liking adults spends about $30 in fireworks. Not to mention other expenses like buying sweets and savouries and new clothes for the entire family. These don’t come cheap. Tis the season where employers give employees a Diwali bonus, too.

On the day of Diwali, people wake up early, clean up real good, wear new clothes, have breakfast, and go outdoors to light up fireworks. An hour or two later they’d break for coffee and snacks. Then again, they go back for more fireworks. and in between the festivities, comes other traditions like visiting neighbours and friends to give away snacks, and all-day feasting in cholesterol-full foods. The whole day wanes, and we call this the single biggest festival of the year.

However, like all things Indian, there’s also a counter-culture to this Diwali madness. There are some who don’t throw money away on fireworks or shopping. They don’t spend all day indulging guilt-free on guilt foods, laugh at animals cowering in fear, or trigger heart attacks in patients in a nearby hospital.

These are the ones who see festivals as a chance reconnect with their family without tearing other families apart. We are the misfits, the tradition-less, and the unholy. We call Diwali the festival of darkness because we are the ones who care for the greater good.

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